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A Pencil’s Ballad

the pencil died in vain, retired too young

rejected when it was still able

forgotten while it lay nearby

erased in memory


sketched away by the so-called electronics

mere devices, incapable without their life support called batteries

now it sits in one place

full of dust

in the corner, buried while still living


it missed the days of sharpening and erasing

leaving its mark

but that was the past, the pencil wished it could have last

it cries, wishing it could disintegrate into thin air

’til a lonely child found it

and wrote a poem as a dedication